The clouds obscured the moon with their wispy fingers, diluting the rays that streamed past them onto the forest floor. 

The wings of the nightingale rode the winds that brought the clouds in, coasting on the gusts they provided. A storm was rolling in, striking wordlessly against the steel gray backdrop of heavy rain in the distance.

Fluttering through the entrance of a cave, it ceased its song and traveled through endless tunnels, branching off multiple times into inlets and crevices towards its destination. 

A row of cells, no more than cages, began to spot the walls of the cave until it completely lined both sides. Though the bird could not smell, the must of mildew clung to the feathers it had left like phantom weights. Further in, the smell mingled with hints of death, waste and sickness. A quiet stillness had settled here, as if all the occupants had given up and were ready to die. Except for one cell, full of lively little spirited children, who whispered in the depths of the damp. 

The nightingale skirted a handful of men playing cards on the rock floor, laughing boisterously with a lamp in the middle of them to see. Drinks of varying strengths were grasped in their hands, and the grime on their clothes looked to be permanently stained. 

Landing in front of the cell, it hopped past the rusted iron grates, it sprung into the hands of a young girl with wavy, matted hair. At one time, it had been white. But with the amount of dirt and lack of bathing, her hair had lost all hue except for the shade of mud. 

“Hello, little one. What news have you brought me?” She whispered to it in her hands as if it was the most precious presence, because it was. 

When she summoned the souls of the birds back into their once lifeless body, she always gave them a choice. Some chose to return to the void, some wanted to be buried in the fields they once roamed. The communication was very vague, usually pictures of what they saw were transmitted through the bond. 

This bird, who was as precious as the water she thirsted for, the food she craved, the freedom she fought for, had chosen to stay with her, showing her a picture of her own face. It appeared that she had fed this bird when she was a free girl, and it had remembered her. 

It didn’t matter that the bird was half eaten by the resident cat, or that it was missing an eye. The souls she summons are always cherished in their final moments of their temporarily revived life. 

As she took in the bird’s memories through their contracted bond, she frowned. She didn’t remember hearing about Swordmaster Orson’s daughter having any Talent. Her frown wavered with hope for a split second before she broke out into a smile at the bird. 

“You did well. Would you like to rest now?” She softly caressed the neck feathers of the bird, and it fluffed in response. 

“Very well. Sleep deeply, my friend.”

The bird nestled in her hand, content, before its soul left the body it occupied, laying limp in her cupped hands. Had it not been for the missing eye, it would have looked like the bird was sleeping. 

She laid the deceased bird in a hidden corner of the cell, the only place she could place it. She looked at it, regretful that it wasn’t a more comfortable place than against this hard, damp rock of the cave. 

As soon as I get out, I’ll bury you properly. Somewhere underneath the sun. 

She smiled softly and glanced up at the ceiling, wondering what time of the day it was. She assumed that it was nighttime, since the nightingale came back, but she wasn’t completely sure. Living in a cave for weeks will disorient you. 

Small pats of bare feet were heard approaching her from the left, and she turned to greet the small child with something in her hands.

“Quinny,” the little girl greeted her with an adorable smile, her sunken cheeks hidden behind the grin for a brief moment. 

“I brought you some bread and some water since you didn’t show up.” Her hands trembled as she offered them to her. 

At irregular intervals, the men guarding all the people here in the caves would bring them scraps. The ends of bread, cold baked potato pieces, and sometimes even the occasional wilted greens.

“Thank you, Elise.” Quinny’s heart swelled at the generosity of this little girl, who couldn’t be more than six years old. In the next heartbeat, it stung her, to gaze at this young girl confined to this place, starving and shivering in the cold. 

She took the bread from Elise, and closed her teeth on a small bite. It was a piece no bigger than her hand, but she savored what she had in her mouth regardless. She took a sip of water from the shared cup, and heaved a big sigh. 

“Oh, Elise, I don’t think I could have another bite!” 

She rubbed her stomach as if she had just feasted like a king. Elise had picked up the cup of water, looking into it as if it would tell her Quinny was lying or not. Still skeptical, she turned to Quinny. 

“But Quinny, you need to eat more. We don’t know when we’ll have more.”

Quinny’s heart squeezed at Elise’s words. This young child was worrying about her. With her sunken cheeks, the bags under eyes, and her thin arms, this little starved thing was worrying about her instead of herself. 

“My stomach has shrunk so much that’s all it takes to fill me up.” She lamented, putting on as much disinterest as she could muster into her voice, pinching her fingers as if to show Elise just how small was. 

She forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat and pretended to have a conspiratory conversation with Elise.

“Could you do me a favor and finish my portion for me?”

Elise beheld the bread shoved in her hand by Quinny and peeked back up at her hopefully. 

“You mean it? You’re so nice, Quinny!” Elise beamed at her and sat down next to Quinny to eat the bread. Once she was finished, she surprised Quinny with a question. 

“Why do you play with birds?” Elise asked, her gaze lingering on the crumbs of the stale bread that had fallen to the craggy floor. 

“Sometimes they bring me things. Like a comforting song.”

Yes, a comforting song of knowledge. 

“Why?” Elise asked. She had started to push her fingers into the crumbs, bringing those too into her mouth as they stuck to her fingertips. 

“Because I made them a promise- that I would bring them home.” It hurt Quinny to say this to Elise who was trapped here with her, since she could not do the same for her with the little power she had. 

Before Elise could ask more questions, Quinny started to get up, helping Elise up with her. 

“Let’s go check on Kiri.” She wiped her hands on her dusty clothes, if they could even be called clothes, and walked hand in hand with Elise to where four other children huddled close together. 

Barry, a boy of eight who was the son of a farmer. Cliff, who didn’t know how old he was, but looked to be around ten years old. He was an orphan who lived on the streets before he was captured and taken here. Roger, who appeared to be a year or so younger than his sister Elise, and Kiriya. Kiriya was a boy around Barry’s age, who was currently sick with a fever and laying down on a pile of scraps of cloth they had taken from their own clothes, hay, and anything else they could find that was soft. 

Quinny didn’t know where he had come from, as he spoke a different language she wasn’t familiar with, and the floor of the cell wasn’t suitable to draw any pictures. 

He panted in his sleep, sweat dripping from his forehead and dampening his ebony hair. His hair reminded Quinny of someone. 

She picked up one of the scraps of cloth, wiping his head of the sweat and smearing dirt on his face, but it’s all they had. No medicine, no baths, not even enough water to wipe any of the younger children’s faces. 

Quinny began to feel sick to her stomach at her powerlessness. With her body this weak, she would not be able to brandish a weapon, no matter what form it took. She clenched her fists in frustration. 

“Here! Use this!” Elise cheerily offered the cup of water she didn’t finish drinking up to Quinny. 

This girl…

Hesitant, she looked up at the other children who were watching her with trusting eyes. She knew they were thirsty, as thirsty as she was. Cliff, who was the oldest besides Quinny, ripped off a piece of cloth that looked the most clean from his shirt and dipped it in the water only enough to soak the finger it was wrapped around. 

Cliff, living on the streets, was very frugal when it came to the supplies they had, but he wanted Kiriya to get better as much as the rest of them. He uncurled the fabric and wiped Kiri’s face with it, removing as much grime as he could. A look of concentration and tenderness filled his gaze, as if he was looking at his little brother. 

The sight of him caring for Kiri, with all the other children’s hopeful gazes looking on made Quinny feel unpleasant. 

I’ll get you all out. I’ll find a way to save you. I…

The word promise stuck in her throat, unable to come to light, even in her mind. This was one promise she may not be able to keep. With her strength as it was, she could barely keep herself upright. She bit her chapped lip, tasting rich blood on her tongue. 

Even with this power, I am helpless. 

As the children all eventually drifted off to sleep, she checked one more time on Kiriya and the children. Elise was still holding the cup of water, only a few mouthfuls left in it. She took the cup gingerly from the child’s hand, placing it next to her instead. If the floor was softer, she would lay her down, but the only soft place they had was where Kiriya was laying now, or each other’s laps. 

She stood up, quietly stepping over the sleeping children to the corner of their cell where she had collected bugs. Crickets, whip scorpions, and centipedes that she had asked the birds to bring her lay before her in a pile, lifeless. Some had no legs, but they all had missing parts. 

With her stomach rumbling and her throat dry, she sat down on the rigid floor of their cell and did the only thing she could do right now. She practiced bringing things back to life, a soft wispy glow emanating from her hands and lighting the determination in her eyes as she did so.